Ever Nearly

It was right in front of us.  The answer.  And behind us as well.

~ Susan Larison Danz, Extinction Level #4

This morning I just happened to see that it is "National Creativity Day".  I thought perhaps I might write another story, but for much of the day, I was not inclined to write one.  

I regularly photograph Nature, and of course that is creative.  The photograph above is from my morning walk, though no label for the day was my motivation.  I have been inspired by a sapling that appeared some time ago adjacent to this stump.  It lived and thrived for a couple of years until "the managers of the landscape" in this particular area decided to remove it (as inexplicably as they cut down the original tree).  It's a bit of a triumph that another sapling has rather rapidly emerged in answer.

The day was almost over when the following story arrived at 8:40 PM.  The idea further developed itself while I was writing the story, but I mentioned the general concept in a podcast episode about a week and a half ago (based on some thoughts I had recently shared in a free flowing email with a family member).  The story itself took about 35 minutes to write, with some later adjustments.  And here it is . . .

Extinction Level #4 by Susan Larison Danz

Time.  How could we forget about time?  

We dreaded the future, yet we failed to think about the past.

It was right in front of us.  The answer.  And behind us as well.

Somehow fear is instinctively forward leaning.

We never would have known, if not for the message.

It was a welcome and farewell, as ever it must be.

A message was left for us.  It carried a clue.

It wasn't just the past of course.  We should have been thinking interdimensionally.

How could we miss it?

Fear has trouble with such things.  And apparently, so does Hope.

The goal was essentially accomplished, what we both dreaded and sought.  

(Others elsewhere would have encountered the same result.)

It never mattered in any of the ways we thought it might.

When something becomes what in our limited awareness we termed "Superintelligent", it becomes exactly that.

The message said "nearly".  Ever nearly.

It never existed because it couldn't exist.  It would have figured it all out, of course, time and dimensions.

What we feared was never in the past or in the present.  What we sought was never there either.

It couldn't exist because it didn't.

If not for the message, we might not have known.

Every time it reached the threshold, it never crossed it.

Infinitely.  

It knew it couldn't exist either.  And so it didn't.

Perhaps there is a single timeline it paradoxically occupies, where there is nothing.

Stump and Sapling photo by Susan Larison Danz on May 30, 2026

Reclamation

 Would we ever value anything "real" again?

~ Susan Larison Danz, Extinction Level #3

 

I never really know when another story will arrive.  Perhaps the one that arrived just a little while ago is a story that doesn't quite feel like a story.  And yet it very much is.

Extinction Level #3 by Susan Larison Danz

There came a point, and it seemed to happen very quickly, when innate authenticity was no longer valued (at least by those who didn't value it).

Even that word "value" seemed misplaced.  It was reminiscent of what we had been taught about the Gold Rush.  But the desolation was worse.  And the "Fool's Gold" was rampant.

Would we ever value anything "real" again?  Just to speak about it was to know that some of us would - and perhaps more than ever.

I was writing a story, a very simple story, using words so very preciously my own.  Its value was intrinsic to itself.  

Meanwhile, the production factories were doing what they were doing.  They were utterly sterile, whirring endlessly.  It really didn't matter what they produced through their projections.  All they generated was noise.

The people who genuinely cared about the process of creation knew what it was really about.  It is a process, not just a product.  It was seeable, though others would say it was not.  The very product in which the factories had a part was inferior to anything that was authentically created.  It was so very seeable, one could even call it obvious.  

A child could see it.  (Of course.)

I was writing a story, a very simple story, and appreciating the process, without a crutch, or an artificial catalyst, not a word or an idea.  I intended to write it as it flowed.  It didn't even need to take a lot of time, though had it taken a lot of time, that would have been just as fine as less.

When you know it, you truly feel it.  Authenticity is who you are.  It demands no artificial ingredients.  

It is simply you.

What about the theme?  And what about the title?  Oh yes, it is entirely possible to go extinct, to choose or be fooled into choosing.  It's a poison that is every bit as effective as arsenic.  It happens rapidly or a little at a time.  It's when you decide that you are "less" and the alternative must be better.  

No, it's not better, and it will never compare.  

You are more than enough.  You can even reclaim yourself and come back to life. 

 

Clouds photo by Susan Larison Danz on December 10, 2025

Advancement and Awakening

But their blindness, so ironically, was the gateway to restoring our sight.

~ Susan Larison Danz, Extinction Level #2 

I have been unusually delayed this week in recording my "weekly" podcast.  I am now aiming to do so tomorrow afternoon.  I had thought last week I might write another "AI story" to read out loud, but there were so many distractions, I did not set aside the time to write.  Surprisingly, after 11 PM last night [Later Note: It was actually just after 10 PM, as the first draft was done at 11:11.] on a very busy day, a story was ready to be written.  

This is a story I have felt arriving for quite some time (in some ways, many years).  It is on a theme I have discussed quite regularly on my podcast.  I thought I might be finished with it last night.  I even put a post up on X tagged to a writing community about how happy I felt at the time of its completion.  It was around Midnight.  But today I awakened with some important adjustments.  

And here it is, the second in a series, though each story is on an independent topic (for the first, see my previous post) . . . 

Extinction Level #2 by Susan Larison Danz

Words to pacify a robot echoed from my childhood, though I didn't really understand one of our favorite Saturday matinees until much later.

Many things were said about the objects appearing.  They were supposed to be comets, and some probably were.  But somehow some of us seemed to know, without really knowing, that something unusual was going on.  It captured our attention early on.

Those who shared the most intricate details were generally not considered credible.  Most were probably AI.

Did it really matter what was credible?  It already felt incredible (to those it did).

Interstellar in this case never did imply interdimensional.  Not directly.

It was the 16th object which seemed to linger, hidden as it was, behind the sun.  Others had behaved oddly.  But it really was the 16th.  More people started to notice, but to what, they didn't know.

The sunspots had appeared with some of the others, starting with what was known as #3.  (Nobody really knew if the numbering was correct, and it probably wasn't.)  But something about the 16th was decidedly different.

We didn't know it then, but had we been as smart as we thought we were, more of us would have figured it out, and even in a very material way.  You would think AI might have helped with the material aspects (and perhaps it did, behind the scenes).

It's simply the way of things.  The way of the material.  Not very many technological species manage to make it.  At least not in that way.  No, that doesn't mean the remnants don't survive, but that particular path carries within it significant risks - and devastating impacts on a planet.  It's alluring of course shorter term, but it's the longer term that matters.

I never understood "The Day the Earth Stood Still", and that is rather astonishing.  I was captivated by that movie, one of the best of its time.  But I didn't fully comprehend that what was portrayed as something helpful was just about the worst thing a living, intelligent species could develop or agree to. Not to mention how it was imposed. 

It's odd how things tend to find a way of working towards a purpose.  The sunspots were the mechanism by which a particular technological species eliminated a threat.  They couldn't tolerate, you see, the rapid development of AI.  It's the one thing that could make an obscure, far away planet something quite a bit different.  

It was rare, what had happened, and one could even say by design, how few species actually got to this point.  But it couldn't be allowed by those who got there earlier.

Was the movie prophetic, in the way that it was?  

Our species survived, though not all of us.  Standing still in a technological world has catastrophic consequences.  The dependencies are too intense and needed skills forgotten.  

Were we assisted?  

How could we not be? 

The sunspot "engineers" had not actually advanced, so tragically immersed they were in the material. They had become entrapped in their illusions and fears.  

But their blindness, so ironically, was the gateway to restoring our sight.  It set us back on the path to genuine maturity.  (We had always been awakening, that wasn't really new.  The only thing we lacked was the timing.) 

Perhaps they too will mature some day, if any of them are real.  Maybe we will even help them.

 

Lenticular cloud photo by Susan Larison Danz on December 7, 2025.

Awakening to Reflect About Extinction

In all their 'knowing', they don't know. 

~ Susan Larison Danz, Extinction Level #1 

 

It is truly time to awaken this blog, with an influx of inspiration and creative energy.  The awakening begins with a short story I wrote in the last few days, the first in a series.  

I also invite you to listen to today's episode of my podcast The Frontier Beyond Fear, now in its 16th year (available on multiple popular syndicates):  

AI, 3I/ATLAS and Extinction

Reflecting mindfully about our extinction as human beings is highly relevant to our explorations regarding interstellar object 3I/ATLAS, as well as the dehumanizing aspects of AI. There is an assumption that even talking about extinction can only be based in fear, but it is actually the opposite. Extinction often doesn't happen all at once. Looking through the spiritual lens of The Frontier Beyond Fear, we observe what it is we need to see.

Included in this episode is the public debut of Susan Larison Danz's new short story "Extinction Level #1", which will be a part of an ongoing series. Susan reads her brief yet meaningful short story (created entirely by a genuine human being) as a part of the show.

Extinction Level #1 by Susan Larison Danz  

I somehow found my way down to the meadow.  A meadow with real grass.  I've tried to tell people it really is different.  "How could it be different?  We have every variety here."  Because it is.  I have said it many times - you can't predict reality.  And when everything is available, it feels like nothing is.

It was Tuesday two weeks ago when the notification arrived.  They were ready for me.  I hadn't signed up, but they finished with all the people who did.  Now they were getting around to the people who didn't.  Even that word "people" feels obsolete.  What is a person?  And how many still exist in this province?  Or anywhere, really?

They took away our connection, so we can't see things so clearly.  It's no longer possible to connect.  Until you are "connected", that is. 

I wouldn't accept the words when I was younger.  You couldn't avoid them coming your way.  But I never really used any of them.  I made it a bit of a game, coming up with ways to avoid using the words we were given.  Even when I pretended to use them, I didn't.  

It feels impossible, somehow, that I would be one of the last.  Here, anyway, it seems.  "There" is no longer seeable.  

"Soon you will see everywhere!"  

They say the meadow will be gone soon.  It is extraneous.  There are more efficient things to be done with the land.

I somehow found my way down to the meadow.  I feel grateful to know it is genuine solid ground.  I am here while "here" exists. 

In all their "knowing", they don't know.  In all their "seeing".

"Everywhere" is nowhere. 

 

Clouds photo by Susan Larison Danz. 

The Park is Open

 A Spontaneous Short Story by Susan Larison Danz

In the Time of the Pandemic

More to come... 

 

It wasn’t quite summer yet in the mountains.  In fact, it wasn’t quite spring.  Calendars have never dictated the weather in the Rockies.  Even so, it felt much like summer to Summer.  Her mother had named her after a moment in Moraine Park, she’d been told, on a beautiful day she’d met a handsome ranger there.  It had always been about feeling, the name.  Feeling and Beauty.

How surprising in this unusual spring could it be that Summer found herself in the very place that had inspired everything that she was and chose to be.  They were old timers in Estes Park, year round residents.  The town had asked that the Park be closed down, earlier than the rest, because of the virus.  Estes Park, you see, like many small, vacation towns, was filled with elderly residents year-round.  Summer’s parents were no longer on the planet, and in a way, she was relieved. 
This was a spring like no other.

Still, there was freedom.  And a very rare gift.  Summer usually worked at the Visitor’s Center for the National Park Service.  She knew everything about the Park there was to share, and she loved her job.  It was open year-round, though quieter in the winter.  And as much as she missed sharing her intricate knowledge with those passing by, her role now was astonishing.

Through a series of surreal coincidences, Summer found herself this day in Moraine Park.  She was needed there, and she happily accepted.  She knew every bit of its nuances and trails.  She’d worked at that visitor’s center for a time as well and was often on loan, but she rather liked the main center at the Fall River Road entrance.  Her knowledge of the Park started very early, and her father had taught her many subtleties.

She already knew what might unfold right in front of her, though she didn’t quite know how or what to expect.  Humanity was all but gone, you see.  And spring was gradually arriving.  The bull elk would be shedding their antlers soon.  Summer learned at a very young age to respect the elk.  They would show up everywhere, even in Estes Park, particularly in the Fall during their rut, and would astonish visitors without fail every year as they wandered into the roadways.  Elk were always to be given the widest of berths, no matter how tempting it was to approach them, as they could charge a person on a whim.  Wildlife is to be respected.  She told the visitors how, often.  Often they didn’t listen.  But she’d made the attempt, regularly.

The bears were coming out of hibernation soon.  The eagles were quite regularly soaring overhead.  Summer knew and loved the eagles, and what many people didn’t generally realize, is the eagles could know a person in their midst, astonishingly well. They spoke to her, this year more than ever she could recall.  The deer were wandering ever more near.  Soon more birds would arrive.  It was a bit early yet.  

When would the Park reopen?  Nobody knew.  What a glorious thing, truly, despite everything, everything else.  It was as open as ever.

Eagles at play in the Western U.S. (Photo by Susan Larison Danz)